


The Drabble Bin

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Begging, Bondage, Character Death, Depression, Dirty Talk, Double Vaginal Penetration, Dubious Consent, Ecto-Genitalia (Undertale), Ecto-Tentacles (Undertale), Edging, F/F, F/M, Fondling, Forced Orgasm, Hand Jobs, Incest, Jealousy, Lingerie, M/M, Masochism, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mentions of Biting Kink, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Paralysis, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Rough Sex, Sadism, Self-Esteem Issues, Size Difference, Size Kink, Slime, Teasing, Tentacles, Threesome - M/M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Fingering, Verbal Humiliation, Violence, forced penetration, mentions of past sex, ruined orgasm, soul-touching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 10:22:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11918868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: An assortment of stand-alone, short drabbles from my Tumblr compiled here for easy access.Each chapter is accompanied with proper tags, labels, and warnings for anyone with squicks or distastes towards particular content.Enjoy!





	1. UT Kingdings-For Science

**Author's Note:**

> Tags for this chapter: Dubious consent, goopy tentacle touching

“Your Majesty, you must stop squirming,” Gaster sighed, exasperated. “You are making this more difficult for me.”

Gaster’s magic clenched in deliberate concentration, forcefully exerting himself to maintain a feasible, stable form of liquid mass. He was still fairly apprehensive of this newfound form of magic he discovered in himself while conducting experiments on monster magic; he could not wholly control the strange impulse that shivered up his spine like a whisper whenever he summoned these bizarre manifestations. This was so new for him; he never imagined that his magic could even arrange and shape itself in such a way—coalescing into almost sentient tendrils that strained to break free from him—but when it did, the sheer fascination of his new findings struck through him in waves.

He wanted to know what these forms of magic were capable of, looming out of his body in goopy drawls. He was ecstatic to present this new information to his employer, strewn with theories and potential leads on how to strengthen the magic of monsters, but while hastily trekking to New Home, the tentacles that wrenched from his body shivered in foreign anticipation, as if urging him on. The tendrils of magic were strangely enamored with the thought of showcasing themselves to the King, and propelled Gaster to Asgore’s throne room with a silent, gravitating, and aberrant force. 

Gaster was astounded when he arrived; before he even managed to utter a single word to Asgore, who was plucking out decrepit weeds from around his throne, the tendrils shot out from his control to eagerly coil around Asgore’s broad physique, startling him.

These things really were sentient, and it seemed, from Gaster’s growing interest, that they only sought out the attention of Asgore.

Asgore laughed lowly and nervously in his throat as the straining grip that the tentacles had on his arms and torso curled tighter and tighter. Asgore was strung up against the large frame of his throne, the squirming tendrils of black, dripping magic secreting steadily in his white fur, bleaching it nearly black in their curiosity. The tentacles wormed and weaved through his golden locks in an almost endearing notion, and the tendrils’ aqueous sap splattered on his armor, drenching him from head to toe with succulent, magical residue. The liquid slopped down on soft, golden flowers that plumaged from the ground, like snuffing out the vibrant life, blacking the gold. The wriggling magic rolled and floundered all along his massive body, enough that it made him tremble with slight fear, but also with engrossment. Asgore had it in accord to familiarize himself with all forms of magic that graced monster kind, so when Gaster arrived out of breath and elated, his interest piqued at the foreign, worm-like magic phenomenon.

Asgore rubbed the slime between his fingertips, the liquid seeped behind his claws, and webbed out in sticky strands between his fingers. It was very peculiar to him; he was aware of the slime secretions of local Moldsmals and Moldbyggs, but this was something else entirely. He was not aware that a monster like Gaster was capable of creating such magic, but he could not find it in his kind soul to refuse his enthusiastic Royal Scientist from his new discovery.

“This is most interesting, Gaster,” Asgore huffed through his discomfort, smiling meekly, “This is certainly remarkable and innovative for your research.”

The tentacles snaked around Asgore nearly leapt in joy, curling and trembling maddingly in excitement.

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Gaster basked in the praise, but he rubbed his chin in contemplation, “But I am most intrigued about why this magic is so drawn to you?”

Asgore shifted on the expanse of his throne to sit more comfortably amidst the tentacles tangled around him, “Well, there must be a good reason. You have control over them, do you not? How do you call them off?”

On cue, after his statement, the tentacles earnestly clenched tighter around Asgore—they coiled and twisted over his arms and legs with almost painful abandon, as if they were offended by his remark.

Gaster hummed quizzingly, “This is most fascinating,” He cautiously shuffled closer to Asgore’s restrained body, reaching out a hand to stroke down a tendril that was locked around the boss monster’s throat, “It seems like these manifestations of magic behave on their own accord, but can be swayed by emotions.”

Asgore jolted when an unsuspecting tentacle roamed down the front of his armor, teasing and worming along the fabric towards his groin. His reaction was instantaneous, erection springing up without his control. It had been a great deal of time since he last relished in the erotic embrace of another monster; it left him pent up and aroused by the faintest of touches. His soul fluttered in tandem to his sudden spark of libido. But this was weird, too weird. Trussed up against his throne with perverted magic weaving in his fur and trapping his limbs, any monster could walk in right now to witness this whole debacle, but this only seemed to fuel his desire more.

Asgore sighed in a deep rumble that made Gaster shiver; he wasn’t used to these sounds emanating from Asgore, but they are addicting. He wanted to hear Asgore make more of those sounds for him.

“Sir, I believe this magic has taken quite an interest in you,” Gaster teased. The tendril poking at Asgore’s crotch acted accordingly, pulsing vigorously against the throbbing erection.

“Now, I do not believe this is entirely appropriate, Gaster,” Asgore huffed out.

The tendril curled around the length of Asgore’s erection straining through his pants, “Your body says otherwise, your Majesty.”

Gaster was quick to observe the abrupt change in the boss monster’s magic; Asgore’s muzzle flushed a deep red and his struggling against the magic tendrils wavered. It was rather exciting to see the King of all Monsters bashful for him and squirming in heat in reaction to his magic. This scenario heightened Gaster’s rather perverse mind, imagining the King begging for mercy and release from the sharp strokes of his magic. The tentacle wormed into Asgore’s pants, spreading slimy secretions that bled through the fabric and drenched over his cock. Asgore moaned wantonly in his bindings as the tendril massaged over his burly cock in rhythmic, wet strokes, eager to milk out the pre-come.

Gaster grinned mischievously as the tentacles gripped tighter around the boss monster’s trembling, hefty body, keeping him pinned against the frame of his throne, “Would you like to continue assisting me with my research?”


	2. NONCON: UT Snarky Punflower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter: Non-consensual, soul-touching, character death, violence, torture

Flowey giggled playfully, smile stretched eerily across his face. He compressed the length of his vines tighter and tighter around the frail bones that threatened to shatter in his grip. He felt absolutely giddy and filled with sadistic elation; he couldn’t keep his magic from trembling in anxious thirst—thirst to make this pathetic trashbag of a monster beg for mercy—to reduce the object of his bane and annoyance through constant, endless resets to cry out and plead for forgiveness.

The thorns ripped right through the bones, and steady drippings of red, blood-like fluid trickled over his plumage in wet webs, soaking the golden-lit floor of the Last Corridor in a puddle of crimson, and bleaching the constrained, white bones underneath to bright copper. Flowey wanted to drain the weak, garbage monster of all his essence, drink it up in spite, and drown in Sans’ life-blood. He was feeling completely ravenous after multiple rounds of brutal death from Sans’ judgment—dodging jagged bones that ruptured his petals, and evading blasts of concentrated magic that burned hot and blistered through his foliage. But now, after continuous wear and tear, he had Sans in his unforgiving clutches, and he imagined all the warped and unsettling ways he could make the wimpy skeleton grovel before him in fear, praying for mercy that he wasn’t going to give.

Smile twitching and eyes wide and bright, he squeezed the vines encircled around Sans’ sternum and ribcage unyieldingly, digging the sharpened thorns deep into marrow, in hopes of evoking a satisfying yelp of pain.

His face fell when he was only met with a short grunt of discomfort.

In displeasure, Flowey shook Sans vigorously in his firm grip to spook him, watching the skeleton dangle limply like a puppet with loose strings to induce some sort of reaction. But Sans wasn’t giving.

Sans’ eye sockets were devoid of light, and his smile twitched at his mandible. Blood bubbled and seeped from the corners of his strained smile, and the liquid streamed down his jaw in moist trails that met at the corner of his neckbone, splattering droplets on his hoodie and undershirt. Strangely enough, Sans’ lithe body was lax amidst the coiling vines; like he wasn’t afraid of the sure punishment Flowey was going to wreak upon him, like he was giving up.

Flowey scowled, fangs elongated. How dare him! After hours of toiling in battle, Sans thought it was fair on his end to just give up! No, Sans couldn’t just back out of the game now that his turn wasn’t in his favor. Flowey was determined to wade out this route for as long as he could, but given Sans’ miserable stamina and HP, the situation was in jeopardy to end quickly.

All Sans had to do was play along, make this fun for him. But the trashbag couldn’t even give him a speck of satisfying solace to relish in his demise.

And Flowey will always hate him for that.

Flowey wrenched Sans’ skull to confront him, staring intensely in the dark expanse of Sans’ empty eye sockets, face darkening in vehement anger, “Any last words, filthy Trashbag?”

Sans’ voice croaked and gurgled through all the blood boiling in the back of his mouth, threatening to give out, but his face remained smug, “nah, i got no regrets. but if i had to choose, i’d say ‘go to hell’.”

Flowey wanted to tear out his dumb, stupid face and dance in his dust.

Flowey tilted his head in mock curiosity, “C’mon, not even a little scream? Go on, cry for help. Cry out for your big, dumb brother to come save you.” He jangled Sans more roughly in his vice to bait the skeleton; his tone was tight as he struggled to keep composure, and he tried with all his might and self-control to not crush Sans in his grip, “See what good it does you.”

But help isn’t going to be coming for you, Trashbag. You can’t hide behind your brother anymore, he’s dead.

“i’m good,” Sans stated simply, shrugging in his constraints.

Flowey growled, it was getting more and more difficult to not destroy this imbecile, but he wanted to see how far he could make this go—Sans never lasted this long after their battle—his intense desire to know grounded him.

Flowey maneuvered Sans so that the trashbag was stretched taut between his vines, so that Sans couldn’t struggle to escape from his hold. He snuck a vine inside of Sans’ ribcage, roaming in Sans’ stained undershirt, noting how the puddles of blood clung to him, and snatched up the skeleton’s quivering soul that was endanger of bursting from the injury. With a condescending smirk, he wagged the feeble, tiny soul in front of Sans face to snare in the skeleton’s fearful reaction, the light emanating from it was dull and nearly life-less. Oh, he knew exactly how to make Sans scream.

Sans’ interest piqued, and his smile grew tight at the corners, “what do you think you’re doing, little weirdo?”

Flowey’s voice escalated to a chillingly, cheerful pitch, “Oh, that got your attention, alright!” He giggled, “I wonder how compliant you’ll be if I squeezed the very life out of you?”

On cue, Flowey clenched unforgivably around the puny soul, enraptured as the light was snuffed out beneath his tendrils. The soul nearly gave out, but Flowey was careful not to destroy it.

Sans grunted in pain and his eye sockets screwed shut, tears threatening to brim over the edges, but it was not enough for Flowey. He wanted to see the trashbag doubled over in absolute misery.

The thorns prickled on the soft magic as Sans’ soul pulsed wildly to stay intact under the pressure, and within their wake, specks of dust accumulated on the tips.

Flowey laughed earnestly, “All you have to do is beg! Beg for mercy and maybe I’ll give it to you!” It was lie, a full, blatant lie, but Flowey just wanted to see him do it already!

Through his turmoil, blood dripping from his form, Sans chuckled weakly, “you know, before all this, i thought we could be friends.”

Flowey spat in irritation; he’s heard this all before, Sans’ stupid spiel about friendship and love had no effect on him. He lost all compassion long ago.

Sans shook his skull slowly, “but i can tell by that look you’re giving me… that we’ve been through this song and dance before, haven’t we? you want me to beg? no, i won’t give you that gratification.”

Flowey leaned in close, antagonism bubbling in his eyes, “You’ve had this coming for a long time, Trashbag. Don’t try and weasel out if it now,” More dust trickled onto his thorns, “It’s what a pathetic monster like you deserve.”

Sans only laughed more heartedly in response, “well, i don’t know about that. but for someone who seems to genuinely hate me so much, you sure seem kinda obsessed with me.”

Shock struck across Flowey’s face and his voice turned shrill, “What are you talking about, you stupid sack of bones!?”

Sans winked aloofly, “i can see right through you. you like this. there is a part of you that honestly doesn’t want this to stop. you’ll just kill me again and again, but you’ll never be satisfied.”

Flowey’s face was blank and devoid of expression, but the vines wrapped around Sans’ frail body trembled.

“i’m right, aren’t i? this little game that you envisioned for us will never stop. because you’ll always come back for more, won’t you?”

Flowey found his voice, and he slowly uttered out in quiet intimidation, “Shut up.” This annoying, useless, pitiful excuse of a monster needed to silenced, “…Just, shut up.”

Sans smirked through the pain, feeling his last moments coming to an end, “so, in a way, i always win.”

Flowey grinded his vines along Sans’ frame, thorns running deep, and spreading dust that littered to the ground like snow.

“… now tell me, who’s the real victim here? you’ll always come back, starving for more.”

Sans’ voice rumbled low and baritone, “w h o ‘ s t h e f i l t h y t r a s h b a g , n o w ?”

Flowey saw red, “SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, AND JUST DIE ALREADY!”

He shattered the soul in his vines, and Sans’ body dissipated to dust on instant.

Flowey was left alone in stark silence, shaking in trauma, but left unsatisfied.

He reached for his save file.

Sans was waiting for him on the other end, eye sockets hollow, “…that expression that you’re wearing…you’re really some kind of a freak, huh?”


	3. UT Solo Alphys (Referenced Alphyne)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter: Lingerie, masturbation, self-loathing/deprecation, depression, fingering, pining, mentions of biting kink

Alphys stared back at the mirror in front of her, hands scrunched tight at her sides, gripping at the flimsy, delicate fabric adorned and taut at the apex of her thighs. She shuffled awkwardly on her feet, freshly painted claws—a rich crimson that reminded her of the flowing locks of her beloved that draped down like water—clicking on the cold tiles on the floor.

Her mind thoroughly teased at herself, jeering and unforgiving, and she felt absolutely wretched, inadequate, and just ridiculously ridiculous. It was a frilly little thing—a lingerie set of black panties with a matching silky, thin strapped nightie sprinkled with tiny, rose-kissed hearts, and sheer thigh high stockings to complete the ensemble—but after begrudgingly contemplating in the quiet, loneliness of her home, Alphys mustered up the courage to try it on.

Her spectacles sagged over her nose, and her reflection in the stark brightness of her bathroom made her nauseous; mocking and laying bare all her impurities and imperfections—too bit of flabby skin here, and unflattering curves and nooks there—until the self-deprecating thoughts accumulated into a nasty clot in her brain.

This had to be a joke, she couldn’t pull this off. Really, what was she thinking? It looked much more appealing on the mannequin back at the lingerie store. She blamed her indulgence on Mettaton, who urged and baited her to purchase it for herself after she bashfully declined. She remembered why she opted to not shop with him anymore. Mettaton meant well, but sometimes, his attempts at flattery were a tad too overcompensating.

But unexpectedly, he bought it for her anyway. 

He told her to consider it as a gift for her upcoming birthday after she spluttered at him to return it; he was on the road more often, embarking on his pursuit to stardom since monsters relocated on the surface—he barely had enough time for her anymore, but Alphys did her best to not damper his ambitions, even if his absence struck her hard at the pit of her SOUL—and unfortunately, he would not be in town to deliver it to her personally on her birthday.

‘Use it to impress your fishy girlfriend,’ he beamed with flaunting enthusiasm.

She stuttered in her inability to, as Mettaton eloquently put it, impress Undyne. Her relationship with Undyne was slowly growing and branching into something deep and romantic. Taking their bond unhurried and steady was ideal in her mind; Alphys didn’t want to appear too obsessive or emotionally clingy, and after years of silent fawning and doodling her lover’s name in the margin of her notes, it was alleviating to retain some construct of composure around Undyne.

It was as uncomplicated at that. But here she was, overcomplicating.

With Undyne, life was an adventure: adrenaline, fun, freedom, on the go; wanting to be her.

She felt that Undyne was too special and sacred for her, and her mind fervently calculated at how Undyne could hold any ounce of interest for her. It was her own emotional turmoil that dug her into this hole she was in now.

Unable to look at herself anymore, Alphys’ fingers slipped over the light switch on the wall, unable to find the stamina to slip out of her dainty nightie into something more casual for bed. With a diminished spirit, she sulked into her bedroom, placed her glasses on her nightstand, and slid underneath her blankets, noting the way the thin fabric seemed to bounce off the sheets.

Despite all her experiences with Undyne, their affections never skirted out into overly passionate territories. Undyne was kind and respectful, she never groped or touched at Alphys inappropriately in the short time they’ve been dating. But whenever Undyne would press her steely figure against Alphys’ squishy body to smooch her flushed cheek, Alphys would daydream about sensual caresses and drowning in Undyne’s warm gaze.

It would take forever and a lifetime to forget the first time they kissed, how the nerves in her lips jittered when their mouths brushed as Undyne pulled back. Or the way her heart melted when Undyne threw a shy arm around her shoulder and pulled her close while at the movies. Or the relaxing silences as they walked hand in hand along the shore at the beach. Or the throbbing between her legs when Undyne kissed her goodnight after their date, and her legs turned to water when Undyne’s fangs hadn’t meant to graze her lips as they did. 

Alphys’ arousal grew as she rolled over on her back, and the silk glided over her skin in a cool trail. She knew Undyne loved her unconditionally, but the anxiety wracked at her all the same. It’s not easy to compare herself to someone as confident and strong as Undyne; she felt secluded in her own shadow, plentifully unattractive to her own insecurities.

Whichever way she considered, she just wanted to feel desirable, lust-worthy, and beautiful.

And tonight, she wanted to curve her own needs.

In a sudden flash, she remembered the vibrating toy she purchased online months ago in a night of splurging. She had a fond interest in the Human Internet; she could access an endless amount of information and content that were relatively sparse on Undernet, especially websites assembled purely for pleasure. However, the vibrator never left its box; whenever she made her way around to using it, her hands would start to shake.

Gently, Alphys’ hand ruffled in the sheets, snagging at her nightie to knead between the tuck of her thighs. She wanted to forget her continual inner torment for a fleeting moment, and she feverishly slipped her fingers into her panties, now saturated with her arousal. She shut her eyes tight, her fingers cupped at her pussy, and she gasped softly as her dull claws prickled at her clit. She teased along her folds, working and stimulating as her pussy grew moist, and the wetness dribbled down along the material.

It wasn’t enough…her claws dipped at her opening, and she visualized Undyne’s teeth bristling on her sleek mound. Her insides automatically sucked around her finger and her breaths panted out in soft huffs as her toes curled in the sheets. With her other unattended hand, she quickly flicked at her clit, pinching and twisting the swollen nub.

Her body cramped in desperation and she finally allowed her finger to pump into her awaiting opening with sharp thrusts, but it wasn’t enough; she needed Undyne here—she wanted to feel her lover’s teeth attack her with lustful savagery, she’s fantasized about this for so long, but always afraid to do. She’s done so much dreaming, dreaming of how Undyne would touch her here, and stroke her right between there, and kiss and bite her until it hurt so good.

She moaned heartedly, choking and gasping for her own air. She needed this, she needed this so bad, but it still wasn’t enough.

She envisioned Undyne’s hulking form towering over her, pinning her to the bed with a predatory gaze. She added two more fingers, stretching and scissoring her walls until she could hear the sloppy squelches from her pussy as her fingers became drenched with liquid. Her cheeks perspired and her voice grew hoarse as the heat was building and building, and her insides blissfully fluttered and contracted into convulsions; she was almost there, teetering on the edge.

Her back arched off the bed as her fingers pumped deeper, claws scraping at her inner walls; a-almost there. She wanted to feel all of it; Undyne’s tongue swirling up her stomach, nails trailing down her rump, fangs nibbling on her neck. Alphys rubbed frantically at her clit and her head pounded from the strain as she felt her southern lips grow raw from the exertion. She was so close, sweat dripping down her neck. With a few more swipes on her clit and pumps into the wet heat of her mound, her breaths drooled and her head exploded from the pleasure, body locking into a single gut-wrenching contraction.

Her eyes flickered open through her sweat, and her sticky fingers slowed to a complete stop, satisfied and sated.

Vibrators were fun to think about, but her fingers and fantasies were good enough.


	4. UT Sansgore+Aftercare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter: Size kink, aftercare, pining, mentions of penetration, self-loathing/deprecation

Calming his heavy breathing, Sans ran a trembling hand down the slick sheen of his cranium coated with sweat, a worn-out smile etched candidly along his mandible. His bones were finally able to cease their rattling and shivering from over exertion, and with what little stamina he had, Sans managed to roll over onto his front, grasping the fluffy pillow above his head to nuzzle into its warmth.

He shut his eye sockets in contentment, allowing his body to unhinge and relax from its previous tension, and he quietly hummed in serenity. His pelvis—still flushed and sticky from the heat—ached, but it was a good, dull ache, thoroughly and pleasantly used.

It was one hell of a night; a lust-driven, incoherent night. Sans did not suspect that good ol’ Fluffy Buns still had it in him. But after a rough tango in the sheets that left him gasping and writhing in ecstasy underneath Asgore’s hefty, hot physique, it was lunacy to believe that the old goat had lived past his golden years. It surprised Sans at just how big the King was; Asgore was nearly over three times as thick and three times as wide as Sans through sheer frame and muscle, and he could not deny the trembles of excitement that rattled down his bones when he compared his frail body to Asgore’s heavy bulk, fantasizing of all the ways Asgore would twist and bend his body to accommodate the King’s girth until he was panting and yearning for more, until he was sure his magic would combust from the heat and pressure welling up to his ribs.

Unbeknown to other monsters in the Underground, tonight was just one of many nights where Asgore’s lonely but raging appetite had destroyed his shirt, yanked down his shorts, and pinned him to the bed, weighing him down with tremendous mass until the air was knocked out of him, clinging tightly to the silky fur on Asgore’s arms that caged him.

It was a silly game they played, tip-toeing and skirting around each other, fighting against the allure that seemed to spark between them, like some sort of strange force that attracted their magic, a calling; Asgore was much too bashful to explicitly state what he so desperately yearned for after years and years of abstaining. And Sans, his most trusted Judge of the Monarchy and relative friend, was casual and blasé enough to oblige to his needs.

Sans would never judge Asgore after all. He couldn’t; never to the King he devoted himself, so earnestly to.

And Asgore’s sexual hunger was contagious to say the least. Sans would come to him afternoon upon afternoon, standing in the door way of the Judgement Hall, eager and expectant, yet in contradiction, quelling his magic to calm to remind himself of his professional duty there in the first place. It was difficult to ignore, but one hardy and hopeful gaze from the King was all it took to send his SOUL flaring into debauchery.

Sans rolled over on his side, splaying out his arms across the soft sheets to pop and stretch out his stiff joints. The bed was much too large for him alone, and he thought back to his own dingy twin-sized mattress back in Snowdin, which had gone mostly unused ever since he and Asgore began to engage in their tryst. Still, laying there next to him, nearly as naked as he, Asgore looked oddly docile and shy, but clearly tired from a long, exerting day.

Sans chuckled, watching as a red blush deepened along Asgore’s muzzle, “what’s the matter, your majesty? you’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

Asgore breathed heavily and scooted closer to Sans’ small frame, voice rumbling low that it incited tingles of arousal down Sans’ bones, “It is nothing to worry yourself about, my dear friend.”

He gave Sans a small, reassuring smile, but his eyes were laced with a sullen glint, “It is just a plight at my own expense, nothing against you whatsoever.”

Slowly and cautiously, Asgore reached out a huge hand to wrap around Sans’ spine and lower ribs, pulling the skeleton flush to his broad chest. Even with his skull pressed to Asgore’s chest, Sans’ feet barely touched at the King’s knees. With Asgore’s left arm otherwise trapped under his pillow, his right arm was free to keep Sans’ pinned to his body. But it was nothing too uncomfortable, and the warmth from Asgore’s natural fire magic was lofting him to slumber.

“I hope you do not believe that I am taking advantage of you.” Asgore spoke, forlorn and guilty. Sans looked up from the furry expanse tickling at his nasal bone to meet Asgore’s downcast expression, “…If, at any chance, you would not like to continue…this…we can stop. I would understand.”

Before he could respond, Asgore’s arm closed in on him more earnestly, but not with enough pressure to cause unease; Sans felt safe wrapped up in Asgore’s embrace, sinking deep into the strong magic that drugged him with heat.

“I fear that I am causing you so much trouble. I did not harm you, did I?” So close, Sans could feel Asgore’s voice vibrate through him, making his whole body quiver with anticipation. Conditioned after so many nights of intercourse, his body quickly responded, magic growing hot.

Asgore began to notice the sharp spark of heat that blushed down Sans’ skull, and his voice grew more frantic, “Oh dear, do you feel ill?” Asgore pulled away, sitting up in the large bed to leave, “Perhaps you will feel better if I made you some tea?”

Sans grasped quickly at Asgore’s hand, “no, no its ok. you didn’t hurt me. you worry too much.” Sans beckoned Asgore to lie back down next to him, wanting one more romp until he had to head back home before Papyrus noticed his abnormal absence. He rubbed soothing circles along Asgore’s paw, smiling with sincerity, “i really like what we have, so don’t run yourself through the wringer, you don’t have to blame yourself.”

Now holding Asgore’s undivided attention, Sans maneuvered himself to prop up onto the large pillow and spread his femurs lewdly. He snickered when Asgore’s eyes nearly sprung from their sockets, but the evident bulge that tented in the blankets was clarity enough. Teasingly, Sans hardened his grip to pull Asgore upward and over him, until the boss monster nearly enveloped his entire frame, claws clutching below the pillows underneath Sans’ body. Asgore’s erection poked at his pubis, and Sans playfully rolled his hips, content as the member twitched and pulsed at his bones. Stars, he was so massive, and Sans’ SOUL pounded in excitement.

“so, whaddaya say, fluffy buns? wanna go another round? im ready when you are, and don’t hold back on me, ok?”

Asgore rumbled a low growl, and Sans whimpered in submission. The boss monster had him pinned to the mattress on his back in a quick blink, and with the gentleness of a kind lover, Asgore toyed with his body, making him crave satisfaction as his toes curled in the sheets.


	5. DUBCON: Sansby Threesome- UT Grillby/UT Sans/UF Grillby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter: threesome, begging, double vaginal penetration, slight dubcon, oral sex, fingering

Sans purred softly on his hands and knees as his mouth slipped over the broad tip of Grillby’s cock, the warm heat from the bartender’s member delightfully filling his skull until his vision swam into a stifling trance. Grillby rested his hands atop his cranium, lightly caressing the expanse of the bone and urging Sans to continue. Grillby’s thrusts grew more timed and precise in his arousal, sliding across Sans’ slippery wet magical tongue, and the moisture sizzled on his cock, causing him groan earnestly in pleasure.

Grillby’s moans and quiet hissing were addicting; Sans continued to slurp and suck on the thick girth until Grillby gagged that soft cry he loved so much, until tingles of heat shot down his pelvis, enticing his magic to take form into a throbbing opening. Grillby released his hold on the back of Sans’ skull to clutch at the sheets under him, and he threw his head back again the bed frame in ecstasy. Playfully, Sans looked up from Grillby’s pelvis, swirling the tip of his tongue around the head of the fire elemental’s cock, swiping away the pre-ejaculate that gushed from the slit in steady droplets. Grillby met his lustful gaze and countered with biting his lip in anticipation of incoming release.

A sharp chuckle that crackled like embers interrupted their lovemaking. Suddenly, Sans felt a pair of tepid, curious hands teasing around his tailbone, grasping his pelvis to tilt lewdly in the air. Sans pulled away from Grillby’s blistering cock, and turned his skull around to exhibit a lustful look at his debaucher stroking his tailbone, and he wriggled his hips in eagerness.

Other Grillby, or perhaps, Chillby—the name that Sans and Grillby gave to their unexpected, other universal guest—smiled as his fingers now dipped into Sans’ pussy to scissor and stretch apart the quivering walls. Sans mewled and latched his mouth back on the throbbing cock twitching and pulsing in front of his face, hips gyrating into the probing digits that were now drenched with his arousal.

Sans wasn’t quite sure how this cross-dimensional blip occurred, but he chocked it up to the Other Dimension’s Sans, linking him as the possible culprit. Without probable causation, the method of transferring Chillby back to his home universe was a trifling puzzle. There were too many factors to consider, and with how dangerous universal traveling is, Sans deemed that it would be most secure to take the time to study and analyze a solution.

And with all things considered, it would be ridiculous to pass up the opportunity to pursue two Grillbys at the same time.

Chillby’s expert touches on Sans’ privates continued to pump, finding the right groove and rhythm of pressure to make Sans’ legs tremble and threaten to give out. Sans was pleasantly surprised to discover that this Other Grillby knew the exact techniques to make him moan.

It was interesting to say the least, but Chillby was not too appalled to find that this universe’s Sans shared the same hot and sensitive spots as his own Sans back at home. It made Chillby snicker, “…Oh, so you like that?”

Sans continued to squirm under the Other Grillby’s touch, the rubs on his clit and the thrusts inside his pussy growing faster and rougher as his moans grew more impassioned.

“You really are just like my Sans,” Chillby hummed, mockingly. “…Just like him, begging and moaning like a little whore.”

Chillby’s cock was straining in his pants, and he pulled down the zipper of his slacks to free his aching erection. Sans whimpered as he felt Chillby’s fingers pull away from his flushed opening and then let out a sharp gasp when Chillby pressed his cock against his pussy, heat seeping into his magic.

Sans released Grillby’s cock from his maw to pant out, “p-please put it in me. i want it.” He rolled his hips to suction Chillby’s cock to the base, sighing as it popped into him.

Chillby hissed happily, Sans’ tight, soaked magic clenching around his member, urging him to thrust.

However, Grillby had other ideas. He forcefully pulled Sans up from Chillby’s cock, watching the erection slip out lewdly from the magical construct, allowing the skeleton to straddle his waist on all fours. The Other Grillby growled in reprimand, but with lithe maneuvering, Grillby slid down on the sheets to lie on his back, and he managed to sandwich Sans between himself and his alternate standing at the foot of the bed. His member pulsed against Sans’ pubis symphysis, poking at Sans’ pussy and demanding entrance.

“o-oh no, i-i don’t think i can take two at the same time,” Sans whined.

Chillby only shook his head in disbelief, “…Well, not with that attitude.”

“i’m too small, you’ll b-break me.” Sans continued, face flushed and pussy throbbing. 

Grillby gave one hardy thrust, and his cock plunged into Sans’ magic, eliciting a high-pitched cry from the tiny monster trapped between himself and the other fire elemental. Chillby’s smile turned malicious and hungry, and he grasped his own erection to stuff it into Sans’ already distended pussy. It was a snug fit, but with enough wriggling, Chillby was able to cram his member alongside with his alternate.

“ahhh…it’s too much!” Sans whimpered, skull pressing against Grillby’s chest in a futile effort, hopelessly trapped between the two fire monsters.

Both fire elementals started to thrust into him, making him cry out as he felt them penetrate his magic to the core. Grillby quickly upheld a rhythm, thrusting his hips upward into Sans’ mewling body as Chillby pulled out. The feeling of two thick erections pushing and pulling in and out of Sans’ cunt, rubbing against his insides and reaching deep against his sensitive spots, was more than he could handle.

Grillby motioned for his alternate to stop, allowing Sans to catch his breath. He was shaking, pleasure waving up and down his bones, and his head spun from the stifling heat. His body was ripe with sweat and he panted from exhaustion. Slowly, he lifted his eye lights, tilting his skull to look up at the two bartenders who had him so deeply skewered.

Now with some control back, Sans moaned, trembling and squirming for the two fire monsters to resume their ministrations. He started to move his hips on his own accord, pushing down to suck the cocks back in, his warm magic clenching tight. He rotated his hips about, enticing the monsters to continue their aggressive penetration into his small body.

“please…” He whispered, growing desperate as his attempts to get the two cocks inside his magic to continue moving were unsuccessful. “you’re both so deep inside me…you can’t just, oh god, please…fuck me.”

Grillby smiled warmly, and Chillby smirked, both overwhelmed with their arousal, beginning their rough ravaging anew.


	6. NONCON/RAPE: UF Papyrus and Moldbygg + Slimy Noncon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter: Non-consensual, heat cycles, ecto-genitalia, bondage, rape, slime, forced penetration, paralysis

This was a dangerous feat—walking alone in the dead hours of the night—but Papyrus was determined to make it back to his home in Snowdin unscathed. His training session with Undyne ran longer than he had expected, and his limbs were particularly fatigued from hours of physical exertion, but in his mind, it was worth the struggle to climb the ranks into Undyne’s favor.

Ally or not, Undyne had rules and regulations for monsters who aspired to be members of the guard, and she held her convictions with a strong uphold. Papyrus was certain that with enough grit and fortitude, Undyne would be able to see how qualified he was for a position.

He fumbled through the tall grass, nearly tripping over his feet when he stepped on an amorphous blob etched on the ground.

It was only a Moldsmal, just about average. 

No use in harming a creature so abysmal; these monsters were barely sentient, and provided very little to no EXP.

Papyrus sneered and trudged around the small monster, but the thick goop that the Moldsmal secreted was strewn about the terrain in which it inhabited, sticking to his boots like paste.

In a sudden flash, before Papyrus had the time to react, the monster emerged from the grass to uncoil its jiggling mass upward into an intimidating stance, towering over him. The Moldsmal had revealed itself to be a Moldbygg, much more frightening and threatening than its subpar façade.

It hissed and fell on top of him from above, giving him no warning of any kind as it coiled around his body like a snake encasing its prey, spreading translucent slime that leaked through and clung to his battle body. Papyrus yelped in alarm, kicking and wiggling from its tight hold, scrambling in the wet, tall grass to grab hold of anything to pull away. The sticky residue that was plastered to his bones slowed down his movements, succumbing him to sluggishly tug from the monster’s taut grip.

The Moldbygg growled, but the sound erupted in a sloppy gurgle as its body pulsed against Papyrus’ bones, contracting and constricting rhythmically. Struck with renewed fear, Papyrus jolted with fervor, but the ooze pooled into the cracks and crevices of his bones, and his magic began to tingle into uncontrollable trembles that wracked through him. He quivered from the forced stimulation as the Moldbygg began to massage his body aggressively, wrestling with his clothing, pulling and tearing as the goopy discharge bled and dissolved into the fabric.

“NO, NO, YOU HORRID SLIME! UNHAND ME!” Papyrus barked, but his tone cut with unknown terror.

He tried to call upon his magic to summon sharpened bones, but as his weapons took form and mass, the magical constructs sizzled away in the air, leaving him defenseless in the Moldbygg’s unflinching grasp. Papyrus’ eye sockets widened in shock; why wasn’t it working!? He scrambled to take in some reign of control, growing more and more desperate in his attempts to not fall victim to this disgusting slime.

“LET GO! NO, NO STOP!” He gagged, turning his skull left and right with a desperate need to find anyone. But nobody came. In the natural darkness of Waterfall, he was alone.

The Moldbygg rearranged his lithe body to stare at him straight in the face, and it opened the large expanse of its gaping maw to secret an indistinguishable flow of liquid that dripped down its body. The strange slime that emitted from its mouth was laced with small beads of magic that Papyrus was not familiar with, and in his fright, he bent and twisted against the gripping muscles ensnaring him. But as he pulled away, the succulent goop kept his limbs into place, and the harder he fought for resistance, the more his appendages threatened to pop from their joints.

The monster rubbed against his pubis symphysis, enticing his magic to take shape, and tears sprung at the corners of Papyrus’ eye sockets as his struggling grew more futile. The sensation was warm and wet, sliding up and down his bones until his face flushed with unwanted arousal. He was utterly exhausted from training, barely able to move from the strain.

It had occurred to him that this monster must have used some sort of pheromonal magic to keep him heated and his magic paralyzed, it would explain the strange pollen-like beads that erupted from its secretions. Sans had warned him about techniques like this when he was young; some monsters would use the onslaught of sexual arousal to trap their victims.

Skeletons are not inherently sexual, but the wiggling Moldbygg called upon his magic with foreign intentions, and before Papyrus could fully process it, his magic had coalesced into a throbbing erection that he did not know he was capable of making.

Panting and now drenched in fluid, Papyrus balked at the appendage glowing from his groin, and squealed sharply when the Moldbygg began to poke and prod at his straining cock. It seemed…oddly satisfied?

“NO, YOU DISGUSTING, VILE CREATURE! GET OFF ME!”

The Moldbygg reoriented itself to lay across his sternum, wrapping around his middle and between his legs, humping into his pulsing erection. It pressed into his pelvis, and Papyrus jumped when he felt a gushing, wet opening slide over his cock. He gasped as it sunk down and nestled over his member, and the Moldbygg rippled in delight, sporadically grinding against him and engulfing his hips with juices so it could slither down more efficiently.

Papyrus was unable to form words as his body lurched in unwanted pleasure. He could only whimper and plead for the monster to show him mercy as it slipped lower and lower onto his twitching member, bathing his magical flesh in hot fluid. His hips ached with the need to buck, but the Moldbygg kept his pelvis tethered to its jiggling body as it continued to bounce on top of him. Some of its goop seeped into his eye sockets and jaw, until he was choking and blind from the slimy residue.

His head swam in delirium; the clenching and milking over his cock were too unbearable to take. The opening was snug and comfortably warm, wetness leaking everywhere and spilling out from around his member in its insatiable hunger. Papyrus’ groans escalated as a tight contraction twisted at his groin, and it was so alarming that he fought to weigh down the feeling.

But the feeling was so pleasurable as the monster shifted back and forth, he wanted it to end. He didn’t want to feel anymore.

His tears mingled with the slime that oozed over his face, teeth grinding as the blissful sensation bloomed and threatened to take hold. With a shudder, he fell off the precipice, shooting his magic deep inside the fleshy opening until the strokes over his cock grew sensitive. The opening pumped at his member, milking him of all he had, but with almost sadistic glee, the Moldbygg only gave him a few moments rest before it continued its assault on his body, churning and squirming over his cock anew.

Papyrus only twitched, too fatigued to fight back. He moaned as the warm flesh glided over his cock roughly.

But as soon as it started, it stopped. His hips pulsed from the sudden coldness that bit at his member as the monster rose over his cock. The Moldbygg shrunk down back into itself and scurried away, alarmed by some unseen force. Papyrus heard a sharp whine that fizzled in the air overhead, like concentrated magic ready to burst. He couldn’t move, his limbs were despondent and his magical reserve was too dwindled to protect himself from an oncoming attack. His body was still drenched in slime, and he could barely open his eye sockets as they were filled with secretions. He wanted to hide himself; he would not be able to deal with the humiliation if another monster saw him in this pathetic state.

He heard a rustle of quickened footsteps through the tall grass, followed by a concerned voice shouting at him that seemed so familiar, but he was still lost in his haze to decipher it.

As the sound drew near, he was able to recognize the voice calling for him.

“boss! boss! papyrus! can you hear me!?”

It was Sans.


	7. UF Tagteam- Papby and Sansby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter: Bondage, restraints, heat cycles, slight sadism, jealousy, pining, begging, fondling, teasing, hand-jobs, oral sex, edging, orgasm denial, ruined orgasm, over-stimulation

Grillby twisted lightly in his bonds, testing the strength and hold of the ropes encasing his arms behind the backrest of the cushiony chair. The tepid flames that comprised the structure of his body could not sear through the material of the rope, no matter how much he pulled in his bindings.

It was quite impressive to say the least; Sans was known for his half-assed attempts at anything that required even the least amount of effort, but with this—securing Grillby’s arms and legs with intricate knots in an unwavering hold—he spared no expense to truss up the bartender in his hunger.

Grillby growled softy, and his pelvis attempted to thrust in the air as his throbbing erection strained behind the zipper of his pants, but the strength of his bonds kept his lower half bound to the chair. Sharp pangs of arousal spiked through his body, and the constant release of saturated hormones clogged his senses.

With all the knots pulled into place, Sans gave a final tug at the rope, “comfy, sweetheart?”

His flames crackled under the duress, and his eyes flickered beneath his shades to shoot Sans a glare of ire.

He was going to lose it if someone didn’t touch him right now.

He would combust into a begging mess for sure.

Chuckling, Sans shuffled a few steps back from Grillby’s station. He knew exactly how rowdy and rough Grillby could be when in heat. Restraining the fire elemental while in his most aggressive deposition was sadistically thrilling; the excitement of what Grillby would wrought in his growing, urgent lust was more than enough incentive for Sans to exploit.

Carefully surveying from a distance, Papyrus was also impressed with his brother’s handiwork. He spoke with dignified clarity, “AH, EXCELLENT JOB BROTHER! YOU HAVE TRULY OUTDONE YOURSELF!”

“c’mon, boss. what do ya take me for?” Shrugging, Sans slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket and replied with a satisfied, playful huff. “i can be accommodating.”

Sans grinned almost teasingly, licking his teeth in anticipation, “’sides, it’s not like he put up much of a fight anyway.”

Grillby sneered in Sans’ direction, but was cut off when he emitted a sharp groan as a sudden surge of arousal shot down to his groin. If he wasn’t so drugged in his own hormones, he would have wrangled himself out of this situation.

But right now, all Grillby needed was to get off.

Desperately.

It’s been far too long since his last heat cycled. When left unchecked, it became too distracting and unwavering to bare. With every pang of desire that wracked through him, the urgency to breed was unquenchable; his magic expended itself to the point where he became inept, unable to function without constant, gratifying release.

If he had to subject himself to the mercy of Papyrus and Sans, then so be it. 

Papyrus strode forward in earnest, and hooked a phalange under a lace of rope that tapered Grillby’s arm behind the chair to observe the potency and durability of the hold. Noting the lack of any give, Papyrus nodded firmly, “NOW THAT HE IS SECURE, WE CAN BEGIN.”

Instantly, Grillby’s flames crackled in excitement, waiting for the erotica to begin. If Papyrus’ boundless and undeterred disposition rang true, then Grillby will be up for a treat. Papyrus had stamina, and unlike his brother, he should excel at keeping up and satisfying Grillby for the next few agonizing hours.

Deftly, Papyrus ran a claw-tipped phalange down the bartender’s pelvis to gauge a reaction. The gloved tip grazed over Grillby’s confined erection, and he nearly jolted from his seat in a loud hiss, but his restraints kept him bolted in place.

“SO, YOU’RE THAT PERSISTANT, ARE YOU?” Papyrus taunted, tugging down the zipper of the fire elemental’s slacks, allowing Grillby’s erection to spring free. Slowly, Papyrus grasped the swollen, rigid cock and began to churn it in an unhurried, measured pace.

Grillby grumbled his impatience through clenched teeth, on the verge of exploding from just a couple of sparse strokes.

Sans was nearly salivating from the alluring display, “when it comes to you, who wouldn’t be?”

Papyrus’ eye sockets closed in pride, but his touches did not wane for a second, “WELL OF COURSE! HE BEGGED FOR MY SERVICES AFTER ALL! HE SHOULD CONSIDER HIMSELF LUCKY; I DON’T OFFER HAND-OUTS.”

Growling in his seat, Grillby pumped his hips—to his best accord through his bonds—in tandem with Papyrus’ slow strokes. It wasn’t enough to bring him to gratification, only circulating the heat through his body until it festered to unbearable levels, “BUT FOR HIM, I CAN MAKE AN EXCEPTION.”

“THAT’S THE LEAST I CAN SAY ABOUT YOU, SANS,” Papyrus mocked. “IF I RECALL, GRILLBY SPECIFICALLY DECLINED YOUR INVOLVEMENT!”

Sans’ ravenous smile faltered slightly in disbelief, “…what are you talkin’ about?”

Papyrus massaged the underside of the fire elemental’s pulsing cock, riding back the foreskin until Grillby gasped, “GRILLBY APPROACHED ME ON ONE OF MY PATROLS, PRACTICALLY BEGGING FOR MY ASSISTANCE. THE ONLY REASON YOU’RE HERE IS BECAUSE I ALLOWED IT.”

Mischievously, Papyrus allowed his thumb to run over the narrow slit, catching small droplets of pre-ejaculate that clung to the material of his glove in a single, sticky strand, “YOU SHOULDN’T TAKE THIS SO PERSONALLY, SANS; NOT EVERYONE CAN BE AS GREAT AS ME. BUT, TO PUT IT SQUARELY, I BELIEVE HIS EXACT WORDS WERE: ‘SANS CAN’T HANDLE IT’.”

Sans fell completely silent, but his smile twitched maliciously.

“HE WANTS ME.” Papyrus slowly brought up the soaked tip of his glove to his teeth, and deliberately licked away the runny liquid.

“…More than you realize,” Grillby husked, the base of his voice rumbling in lust and frustration.

Basking in his own vanity, Papyrus tutted, “MAYBE IF YOU BEG.”

In a blink, Sans swatted away Papyrus’ hand and kneeled on the ground to position himself between Grillby’s thighs, “quit hoggin’, bro.”

Balking with his hand still hanging in the air, Papyrus stomped his foot in reprimand, “SANS, WHAT DID I JUST SAY!? HE WANTS ME, NOT YOU!”

Papyrus’ tantrum went ignored, and Sans gripped Grillby’s cock tightly in his hand.

“so, i can’t handle it, huh?” Sans questioned, voice low and dangerous. He could hear Grillby growling in warning, but Sans gave the fire elemental no reprieve as he fisted the cock in his hand and squeezed, wringing out the beads of hot wetness that pooled at the head of Grillby’s member.

“that’s a lot of talk, coming from you right now,” Sans murmured. He opened his jaw to slither his tongue around the throbbing head of Grillby’s cock.

“…Mmm,” Grillby moaned, relieved that someone was finally catering to his unfulfilled needs. The heat and sweat was building, and his arousal twitched sporadically in Sans’ mouth. 

Papyrus was quietly fuming to the side, “HOW MUCH LONGER ARE YOU GOING TO TAKE?”

Suckling on the head, Sans pulled back with a wet squelch while Grillby continued to whimper, “learn to share, bro. you’ll get a turn.”

Sans slid the erection back in his mouth, lavishing the veins that pulsed with heat on his tongue. Grillby’s cock prodded the roof of Sans’ jaw, and he lazily stroked what length couldn’t fit in his mouth. He dragged his tongue along the shaft from base to tip, swirling saliva and sticky pre-ejaculate in his wake, content in listening to the bartender’s mutters for him to continue faster.

Grillby shut his eyes tightly, grinding his hips to thrust his cock in deeper as he felt his inevitable release mounting, “…Please…don’t stop. Keep going.”

Sans angled his skull for deeper entry to swallow the erection whole, and at this point, Grillby was choking and gasping on his own air.

He was so close, just a little more…

When Grillby was about to erupt in euphoria, Sans quickly ceased his ministrations, and pulled away at the last second, exposing Grillby’s convulsing cock to the cool air.

“No…no, what are you doing? Please…no…why?” Grillby fought the urge to yell at Sans for stopping the wonderful feeling.

Miserably, Grillby watched as cum slowly dribbled from the head, but no satiating sensation bubbled in his groin from his release; his orgasm was withdrawn and ruined.

Sans placed his elbow on Grillby’s thigh to rest his skull on his metacarpals, watching in fascination as Grillby’s member twitched and cum sluggishly dripped down the base.

“aw, too bad, so sad.” Sans mocked in a sing-song tone, light and playful. He tilted his skull endearingly in his hand to deliver a curt smile in Grillby’s anguish.

Grillby groaned and threw his head back. He took a slow breath, eyes flickering as he endured beautiful agony.

“what’s the rush?” Sans winked defiantly from between the apex of Grillby’s thighs, “we’ve got all night. papyrus hasn’t had a turn yet, remember?”

“YES, AND I’VE BEEN WAITING PATIENTLY!” Papyrus declared, arms crossed angrily.

Sans snickered, swirling his tongue around his mouth to collect the stray globs of cum that accumulated there, “think you can handle us?”


End file.
